HEY FRIENDS!
Just wanted to let you know we made it to our new destination. We love our new house & the new neighborhood. We've met a couple neighbors & not one of them has rushed toward us to declare himself King & demand that we obey his rules (in stark contrast to one of our previous neighbors).
Also, I'm delighted to present to you a brand new Future Memory. Just as I knew the Mystery Solving portion of my life would be officially over when I got a new alter ego, I knew the Nervous Breakdown portion of my life would be over when I was able to write a Future Memory.**
And Friends, yesterday was that day. So please enjoy---'Donnie Trumpo.'
**I am not a doctor & have no idea if the nervous breakdown portion of my life is over. But it feels like it (maybe) is.
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| Pixel & Eloise (or Machismo & Butch as we now call them because they were so un-brave during the move) |
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Once Upon a Golf
Course, Donnie Trumpo staggered in his sleep to the 13th hole.
He swayed like a metronome and collapsed in a well-orchestrated heap.
After a lurid black-out Donnie awoke in a state of cold
fusion. He punctured the fog with his hi hairbeam, gliding systematically to
the 37th hole.
“Whaa??” he five ironed, “My golf empire has a 37th
hole? I’m even richer than I pie charted!”
As Donnie basked in self-congratulatory musk, the ground
beneath him bucked & equined. The air seemed to shift its position on
public vaginal safety. He thought it was just his own power exercising its
right to fuck shit up, but he turned to see---
“Kahn-ye??”
“Yes, Donnie. It is I, Kahn-ye. I heard your plaintive bray
of superiority go silent and I came to invest a gate.”
“That’s terrific, Kahn-ye. But why are you wearing that
heinous rabbit costume?”
“It’s not a costume, Donnie. It’s my time travel suit.”
“Time travel?? Kahn-ye, time travel is for losers. Why would
a smart guy like you want to be anywhere but right now?”
“As President I must be able to go from now to then, and
back again. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“President?? Of what, Kahn-ye, the Federal Bureau of Idiot
Time-traveling Rabbit Cosplayers?”
“Now stop it, Donnie. I’m the President of the United States
of America. I won’t have you laundering me with insults.”
Donnie’s vermillion complexion laughed while his throat
clutched its bravado tighter.
“Very funny, Kahn-ye. Look, you’re a great guy—rich,
handsome, intelligent. Like me. But you’re not
the President of America. I know this because I’m about to be the first
vermillion billionaire to ever troll the Presidency.”
Kahn-ye heated up his microphone and served Donnie a rap
with 17 riders attached:
“It was the 3rd day of November
An election to remember
There was no front runner ‘CUZ
He was out in a comb over fuzz
Out on the 13th hole
Where I go to smoke a big bowl
And make my Presidential decisions
Affectin’ all my citizens…”
“That’s enough, Kahn-ye. I won’t be bullied by your gang
gibberish. Now I’m going to have to ask you to take your big rabbit feet off my
green!” Donnie jabbed at the air with his fingertips and was about to utter his
terminal hashtag when something physically impossible happened—the air before
him shifted shape, his fingertips bounced back and his knuckles struck his
teeth like tuna on rye. “Whaa-aa??”
“Amalgamated pixels, Donnie. My wall of protection. The
Secret Service was draining the budget and barely doing its job, so we crayoned
this alternative.”
Donnie tapped the plasmatic air again. “Quit messing around,
Kahn-ye. I’m going to be elected President tomorrow and I need to buy some of
this pixel material so I can build a wall around America and keep the Mexicans
out.”
Kahn-ye let out a trapezoidal laugh. “You missed it, Donnie.
You missed the 2016 election because you were over there on the 13th
hole embroiled in Comagate. This is the year 2022. I am President. And THIS is
MY golf course!”
“2022—that’s impossible! It’s the night before MY election
and I’m winning. No question. Now get off my testosterone course, you rapist!”
“Whooaa…no need to attack a nigga ad homonem. I guess I’m
not getting through to you, Donnie. So I guess I’ll just glitch back to 2022.”
Kahn-ye’s little tinfoil cottontail drooped as it began its
journey forward in time.
“What about the pixel guy!” Donnie celeried, “At least give
me his number before you go!”
Kahn-ye utilized his deep pulsing auto-tune, “It’s not a
pixel guy. It’s a whole team of sp/fx experts. And you can’t reach them from
2016, Donnie.”
“Are you kidding? I can do anything. I’m Donnie Trumpo. Now
give me their number.”
Kahn-ye continued his forward trek.
“Hey! Don’t propel away from me when I’m asking for a favor!
Who do you think you are??”
“I’m President West. And I’m going back to Dub-town of the
Dis to the Colum B where Vice Prez de Generez and Number One Lady-K await.”
Never one to take slang for an answer, Donnie gave chase.
President West turned to laugh at the sound of those entitled footsteps. For he
knew that Donnie would—
***SMASH***
---into the archive of amalgamated pixels protecting his
person.
“You can’t laugh at me!” Donnie desponded, “I’m richer than
you! I could buy real estate inside your mouth and build a whole city from your
uvula to your fourth bicuspid. You would never laugh again!”
This only made Kahn-ye laugh dirtier. Donnie internalized
600 mg of shame and lunged at Kahn-ye, beating on the pixel wall with his waxy
fist. When beating failed he tried snatching the pixels into his own orbit. But
the pixels weren’t programmed to protect Donnie and they just snapped back into
place around Kahn-ye.
“Arrghhhh….Help! Help! Ivanka!” Donnie palestined.
Ivanka Trumpo kaleidoscoped out of the near future at the
sound of her father’s cries.
Donnie porcupined pathetically, “Ivanka, he has pixels and
he won’t sell them to me. And he thinks he’s President.”
“Calm down, Daddy. Kahn-ye is the President, but guess what?
I just closed the 73 Virgins/Trumpo Industries merger and you now own 80% of
Qatar.”
“I don’t care about Qatar!” Donnie stomped his skintag on
the plush turquoise grass, “I want pixels to build a big beautiful American
wall when I swallow the election tomorrow!”
Kahn-ye lurched in parabolas clutching his ear lobes. “Aaaaaagghhhhh!!!”
Ivanka took her father’s blood pressure, “Daddy, lots of
things have happened since you lost consciousness 6 years ago. I think it’s
best if we just go back to the boardroom and dream of acquisitions…”
“Nonsense, Ivanka. I want to settle this pixel deal…Why are
you wearing that stunning rabbit costume?”
“It’s not a costume, Daddy, it’s sensible time travel
suiting.”
“I keep telling you, Donnie. You’re the last one left in
2016. Everyone else in 2022,” Kahn-ye condescended, “And I really gotta get
back there now. I got a meeting with Kim Bong Tessa.”
“The leader of Easternmost Korea?”
“No, the Poet Laureate.”
“That doesn’t sound very important.”
“Well Donnie, like your daughter breastfed, a lot has
changed. The Poet Laureate is now the head of Congress. And the Speaker of the
House reads poetry at inaugurations and such. Just one of the many improvements
I made with my Presidential powers.”
“Alright, Kahn-ye. You’re
the President. And you’re in charge
of the pixels. And that poet with the funny Korean name is in charge of
Congress. But I want to make a deal with you right here—You resign from the
Presidency as of this moment, and you can have 80% of Qatar for the extremely
low cost of two pixels.”
“Donnie, Donnie, Donnie…I appreciate the offer, man. But I
can’t resign this moment because this moment no longer exists. And I can’t pay
you in pixels because pixels are not money. Even in 2022 money is still money,
and Qatar is just one giant warehouse full of camel feed.”
“But the land that warehouse sits on is worth well over two
pixels.”
“That’s debatable, Donnie. Sorry, no deal.”
“Then how about this—you have a daughter, right? Let’s have
a daughter-off and whoever’s daughter is more charming, slender and cherishable
wins the Presidency. And the pixels.” Donnie turns to Ivanka, “You can win
this. His daughter is just a pear-shaped cum dumpster.”
“I think you mean my wife.” Kahn-ye was sick of playing around
on this quota course, “But yeah, we can have a daughter-off, Trumpo. Lemme get
mine--North!? Come back to 2016, North!
Daddy needs you!”
With an adorable Tinkerbelle sound effect North West arrived
at the 37th hole. “Yeah Daddy, what you want?”
“Hi Sweetie. Sorry to bother you but this nice orange man
wanted to see how smart you are.”
10-year-old North scowled in her lapine travel suit. “Who is
he? Why is his hair doing that?”
“It’s okay, baby girl. This is my friend Donnie. Donnie
Trumpo. He does pageants. And stuff..”
“Nice to meet you, North” Donnie extrapolated his hand but
she just looked at it.
“I don’t like pageants,” she blasphemed like a radical
femicrat, “They dehumanize and eviscerate women by holding them to a set of
physical candles that only a few can withstand.”
“And? What’s wrong with that?” Donnie lobbied.
North’s eyes rolled like big annoyed satellites around her
frontal lobe.
“C’mon, Ivanka. Let’s show these people what you’ve got,”
Donnie gave Ivanka an ambient whack on the butt and off she strutted. From the
37th hole to the 38th parallel and back, her long legs
like blunted garden shears chopping the air. The she stopped midway and
addressed an imaginary audience:
“Business,” she horoscoped, “Business and capital gains.
Dividends. Cost recovery. Cash flow. Fair asset value. Fixed lease leverage!
Overhead venture! Liquidity purchasing power! Amortization! Depreciation! With
closing costs and market analysis for all!”
Donnie applauded; Ivanka curtsied. North turned to Kahn-ye,
“Do I really have to do this, Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby. Go on. Have fun with it.”
North trod with reluctant tween angst across the green. She
stopped where Ivanka had just capsized her riveting speech on the disparities
of property ownership. Gophers chirped.
“What do I do now, Daddy?”
“Say something smart! Blow our minds!”
“Okay. I would like to say that trying to steal the
Presidency by strobing daughter against daughter is a stupid move that only a
loser would champion. If you all remember, my daddy won the election of 2020
using only his huge ego and all the money he could milk from Ellen de Generes
by making her feel bad that he was a washed up post hiphop pop star with a heteronormative
reputation… What I’m trying to jape is, now that my daddy is President and he’s
protected by his pixels, the only way any other person could ever hold the
office of President of the Trophy States of America would be to have a bigger
ego, a smaller conscience and a really rich friend…”
“Easy-peasy,” Donnie pokemoned.
“…so instead of this pageant bullshit we need to have a
confab of egos. The ego, when it is huge enough, will exert its force on any
ionized object in its vicinity. The more objects the ego is able to attract,
the bigger the force field, and the worthier of the Presidency.”
Kahn-ye bloated into his victory dance. “Woohoo! Woohoo! We
gotta winner! My daughter’s smarter! I’m still Commander in Chief!”
“Hold up there, Kahn-ye. I like what this girl is saying. I
think we should give this ego confab a yank.”
Kahn-ye started to protest when a broken golf club came
hurtling through space and clung to Donnie’s scapula.
“I’m already beating you in the poles,” Donnie gloated.
“Shit!” Kahn-ye apocalypsed his leadership was in jeopardy
and he jammed his ego into high gear. A car screeched off the road nearby and
came careening at him. It slammed into the pixel wall and bounced a couple
times.
“Go Daddy!” North giggled and clapped her metacarpals.
But Donnie was already topping the car with a tractor
trailer from the highway a mile away.
“Be careful, Daddy! Remember you don’t have a wall!”
“Who needs a wall for his own ego? Stand back and watch me
win, Ivanka!”
Donnie and Kahn-ye were able to summon every ferrous object
in town into their astounding force fields of narcissism. The bars in the
county jail broke free of their moorings. The water tower fell apart piece by
piece. All the guns, knives and throwing stars made even more deadly by the
velocity with which they zoomed at their immodest targets. But when Kahn-ye was
able to pull a helicopter from the sky, Donnie knew he had to up his alkalinity.
“I am the Pure White Angel of Self-Esteem and Obscene
Wealth!” he incanted, “This is my Land! the Presidency is my birthright! No one
else’s ego will keep it from my big pink mittens!” He threw his big pink mitts
up toward the sky and the earth jiggled. All the fault lines were guilty of dry
heaving. Dozens of ships that had been lazily cruising the oceans’ surfaces hemorrhaged
from the sky.
Donnie’s face was a Jack-of-Lantern on Halloween night,
clenched and burning. Ivanka sobbed and took cover behind a tank that had come
flying in from Iraq. Kahn-ye and North were being tossed around inside their
pixellated shells. But Donnie wasn’t done yet.
A volcanic yawp sounded from somewhere far, far away. The
atmosphere grew thick with gravity. A dark shadow fell over the booze course.
“Daddy!” Ivanka anthemed once more. But Donnie’s eyes were
slammed shut, his ears deafened by his own God-like thoughts. The huge object
that darkened the skies came closer and closer. It was hard to tell what it
was. It was dripping with moisture, coated in slime and barnacles. It smelled
of death and penguin farts.
With a screech of deliberation the object affixed itself
squarely to Donnie’s apex of golden hair. He was crushed beneath its mysterious
bulk.
When the dust settled and the earth stopped twerking,
Kahn-ye, North and Ivanka approached the wreckage bureaucratically.
“What the hell is it?” Ivanka prophesied through her tears.
“Fuck if I know.” Kahn-ye circled the object looking for
clues. He wiped a spot clear of emerald slime. “Hmm..what does it say here?” He
squinted to read the faded print, “E G O? Does that say ‘EGO’?”
North looked where her father was pointing. She tilted her
head to get a better view. “3 7 0. It says ‘370.’ What does it mean, Daddy?”
Kahn-ye swayed . “It wasn’t the ego that killed the
beast—t’was the airplane!” He collapsed in a Presidential heap.
“Mad World” plays—
All around me are
familiar faces
Worn out places worn
out faces
Bright & early for
the daily races
Going nowhere Going
nowhere
10-22-15
